


It’s Been A Long, Long Time

by Michie_the_artist



Series: Endgame Stucky Fix-It Fics [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Endgame, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Boys In Love, Fanfiction, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Gay Rights, Home, Homecoming Dance, It’s very gushy near the end, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Stucky - Freeform, be warned it’s hella cringey, steve is whipped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 00:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18727534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michie_the_artist/pseuds/Michie_the_artist
Summary: Steve has been looking all his life for a permanent home. He finally finds it in the arms of his long-lost love.





	It’s Been A Long, Long Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! First of all, the summary sucks, but thx for clicking on this fic anyway, I promise you won’t be disappointed! (if you are disappointed, then I’m sorry times three thousand 😉) 
> 
> I spent a lot of hours agonizing over her so hopefully you enjoy reading this fic **much** more than I did writing it 🙃

Home. A commonality among all which transcends status, country, and even time. Everyone has a home at least once in their lives- even those who take a while longer to find it. For those lucky enough to have an established home from the beginning- a building such as an apartment or a house where _home_ resides- the idea that some people wait lifetimes to find the just the concept of home can be baffling- privilege often breeds ignorance. But for others- those less fortunate souls born without an established home, just obtaining _home_ is its purest and simplest form is enough for them. They don’t need all of the bells and whistles. 

Steve was one of those people.

Now, Steve had had a home, once upon a time, in another life, when his feet weren’t always cold and stomach growling, when he wasn’t ducking in and out of alleys to facilitate heat by moving when his heart didn’t ache from all that he had lost. Steve had had a home. When Sarah was still alive. 

When his mother was still around, everything was the way it should be- Steve was warm, he was generally full; he was _home_. He lived a normal life. He wasn’t worried about heat or shelter or whether he’d have clothes to last him through the harsh New York winter, but instead thinking about his art, about his friends. But as Sarah’s health declined, so did Steve’s innocence- the time for being young was over- as he was forced to grow up and face the reality that she wasn’t getting any better any time soon. She was going to meet God earlier than she or he expected. 

And thus, Steve’s first home was ripped away as the last of his family was taken by that cruel mistress Death. 

Steve would come to know her very well. 

But she was gracious; she waited until after Bucky came to revisit. 

Bucky was the first person to join Steve’s made-up family, to join Steve’s home (heck, he helped him build it). Bucky was the one constant in the world full of uncertainties. 

Bucky was there for Steve during his lowest points, when the infamous New York winter would hit like a truck, sparing no warning and lacking an empathy for the misplaced and unfortunate, and his feet would be freezing in his cheap, rapidly deteriorating excuses for shoes and his chest would hurt not just because of the cold but because he couldn’t fucking breathe, and his lips would be purple from the cold- Bucky was there to throw a blanket over him, to give his warmth so Steve could be a little less cold and his lips coupled look a little less purple (yes, his cuddles and kisses were that powerful). 

Bucky was there during the high points, too- the day when Steve got a gig drawing portraits of rich men’s wives, _‘Buck! Guess who’s buying_ you _a drink tonight!’_ , when Steve was able to find them a new, warmer, and less sucky apartment in a less sucky part of Brooklyn- to cheer Steve on and say “See, Stevie, I told ya things would turn around”. He was there for everything, every point high, low, and those in between. He was there for every rejection from the army, every tear, and every one of Steve’s depressive slumps where he would sit on the floor and listen to the greats of their time- Walters, Henderson, and the great Bessie Smith (Bucky nearly smashed their phonogram when “Nobody Knows You When You’re Down and Out” played for the ninth time that week, _Number one, you’re not rich, stupid. Number two, this song is giving me a headache. Wallow in self/pity with some other song playing!_ ). When he had no one else, Steve had Bucky. 

Until that home, too, was torn away. 

Bucky’s death was the most painful thing in Steve’s life- even beating out the death of Sarah. Sarah was going to die of an illness that was unshakeable at the time, he couldn’t have prevented it or saved her. But Bucky. Bucky’s death was at Steve’s hands. If he had done anything differently he wouldn’t have been alone, without his best friend. He would’ve still had a home. Luckily, the pain was short-lived as soon, Steve’s world was lost as he plunged into the icy depths of the Arctic Ocean. Finally, he found physical darkness to matched the emotional one he was experiencing (Steve, always so dramatic).

And then, just as quickly as it left, the light of day returned. Except he was alone- again- and lost, as everything was different. 70 years was all it took for the world to change; the turn of the century was nothing like what Steve ever imagined it would be. With his new life in the 21st century, Steve encountered things he had heard of in fiction- aliens, widespread and available electricity, television that was in color, and a whole new set of customs and rules for Steve to learn. 

But, as it turned out, he didn’t have to learn it all completely on his own. 

The relief that came from knowing that Bucky was alive was nothing compared to the relief that washed over Steve when his friend recognized him, though time had been cruel (and yet miraculously forgiving) to both of them. He imagined that he was as unrecognizable to Bucky as he was for Steve. And yet, he still knew it was Bucky. _His_ Bucky. His _home_. 

They endured to so much to get to this point- where they could walk hand in hand and stay in bed until noon and hug and even kiss, without fear, and simply enjoy each other’s presence- but as horrible as it was- the time, the pain, the loneliness- it all led them to be together in a time where that was all okay. It led to them right here, in Steve’s living room, swaying gently to the soft beginnings of a song floating from Bucky’s iPod and into the air around them. 

Steve leans into Bucky’s embrace, taking full advantage of this private moment because, heck, they never had moments to themselves like this anymore, even with the endgame far behind them. With funerals, meetings, public appearances to calm the masses of people just as scared and unsure as the heroes were in the aftermath, there wasn’t enough time to breathe, to go _home_. To enjoy it. But now, there is. And Steve intends to fully soak up every second. 

The chorus of the song is playing now, accompanied by the rich timbre of a trumpet and the soft tapping of cymbals and the melodic addition of a piano, slowly crescendoing and decrescendoing as the singer’s voice comes through, clear and strong; her words echo the thoughts in Steve’s mind. 

_Never thought that you would be standing here so close to me._

Steve breathes in Bucky’s scent, still in awe of the fact that he is finally _home_ , after everything that he had been through over the five years after the snap. 

_There’s so much I feel that I should say but words can wait until some other day. Kiss me once, then kiss me twice. Then kiss me once again._

Words escape Steve as he pulls away from Bucky’s shoulder to look him dead in the eye- they are so close Steve can practically taste his lips- and then leans in to initiate that long awaiting osculation between old lovers. All he can feel is warmth. Bucky’s lips are warm (just like they were back in Brooklyn, during those harsh New York Winters and every other time after that). 

The lyrics are fading from Steve’s mind because all he can think about is kissing harder, taking in more and more of Bucky and this moment. He squeezes his arm with his left hand as his right makes its way to Bucky’s face, from there, traveling to Bucky’s hair to card his fingers through it and tug at clumps as they continue their passionate suavation. He wishes he could stay like this forever but the first signs of dawn are already peeking in from underneath the horizon; they have to break apart. 

“Damn, Stevie” is all Bucky can whisper in response, lips bright pink as he gapes in amazement at Steve, eyes wide. 

Steve chuckles and re-buries his head in Bucky’s shoulder because his face is on fire and he knows it’s beet red but he can’t help the way that Bucky makes his heart rate quicken and his face burn up and his lungs constrict like they did when he was asthmatic- he’s in love and can’t do anything about. And he wouldn’t want to even if he could. 

They stay like that for a while, Steve with his face buried in the crook of Bucky’s neck and Bucky with his arms around Steve playing with his shorter hair. _I still can’t believe you cut your hair and shaved the beard. I like it though. It’s cute._ The dawn breaks behind them, enveloping the room with a muted orange glow. Steve can’t help but think that it’s perfect. 

Everything is perfect: the light, the feeling of warmth from Bucky, the gentle decrescendo of music in the background. The combination of these things makes this like a dream, one where Steve is dreading that moment where it slips out from under him, stolen away by Death, or by his own consciousness waking him up and welcoming him into reality. He was so used to everything good being taken away. And yet. This never did. Bucky never turns to dust in his fingers, the room never succumbs to the darkness that was lurking, and the feeling of belonging in Steve’s heart never leaves. Instead, everything is solidified as the perfection that he always hoped and prayed for. It becomes home. This is _home_. 

_It’s been a long, long, time_.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!!! I just want to say thank you to each and every person who read this fic! Endgame was a wild ass ride and I know with the ban on spoilers being lifted it gives us free reign to go off without fear of spoiling it for someone else. This is my way of going off. I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> Please leave a comment bc I will reply to each one! 
> 
> ANYWAY 
> 
> Keep reading, keep dreaming,  
> Michie 🖤


End file.
